Ethan stands outside Olivia's apartment door, hand raised to knock, then hesitates. Through the wood he can hear the muffled sound of a television, some news anchor droning about something. He takes a breath and raps his knuckles against the frame.
Olivia opens the door with that knowing half-smile she always wears, like she's already three steps ahead of whatever you're about to say.
"Ethan. Right on time."
"Is she awake?"
"Has been for hours. I made breakfast. She ate maybe three bites." Olivia steps aside, gesturing him in. The apartment smells like toast and something floral. "I was just about to make coffee. Want some?"
Ethan's mouth opens. Closes. The memory of that vile concoction—wasabi and fish sauce and whatever else Olivia considers a "special blend"—hits him like a flashback.
"I'm good. Really. Thanks though."
Olivia's eyebrow arches. "You're turning down my coffee? You must be desperate to see her."
"I just had some."
"Liar." But she's smiling. "She's in the guest room. Door's open."
Ethan nods and moves down the short hallway. The guest room door is indeed ajar, and he can see Jessica sprawled diagonally across the bed, one arm dangling off the side, her pink wig tossed on the nightstand. She's wearing an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, staring at the ceiling like it owes her money.
He knocks on the door frame.
"Hey."
Jessica doesn't look over immediately. Then, slowly, she rolls her head to the side. "Hey."
"Can I come in?"
"It's your friend's apartment. Free country."
He steps inside and leans against the dresser, keeping some distance. The room is neat—Olivia's doing—with a single window letting in gray afternoon light. A glass of water sits untouched on the nightstand.
"How are you feeling?"
Jessica sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. "Like I robbed a bank and assaulted a bunch of people while someone else drove my body. So, you know. Tuesday."
Ethan almost laughs. Almost. "That's one way to put it."
"You here to check on the broken toy?"
"I'm here to check on my friend."
Jessica's expression flickers. She looks away, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. "Your friend. Right."
The silence stretches. Ethan shifts his weight, trying to find the right words. This is harder than fighting Digimon. At least with Digimon, you know the objective.
"So," he says.
"So," she echoes.
"Cool weather we're having."
Jessica blinks at him. "Did you just make small talk? After everything?"
"I'm working up to the real conversation. Give me a second."
A ghost of something crosses her face. Not quite a smile. But close.
Ethan pushes off the dresser and sits on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. "You want to talk about it?"
"About which part? The part where I shoved a cop? The part where I stole money? Or the part where I punched Impmon and he looked at me like—" Her voice catches. She swallows. "Like I was a stranger."
"Jessica."
"I could see it in his eyes, Ethan. He didn't understand. And I couldn't explain. I was just... there. Watching. Screaming inside my own head while my body did whatever that purple freak told it to do."
Her hands are shaking. She clasps them together, pressing them between her knees.
"It felt like drowning," she says quietly. "Except you can't even thrash. You just sink."
Ethan doesn't say anything for a moment. He watches her, this girl who's been through more in the past few months than most people experience in a lifetime. Family tragedy. Coma. Waking up with powers she never asked for. Trying to be a hero. And then having all of that stripped away by someone who treated her like a puppet.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"For what?"
"That I didn't get there sooner."
Jessica shakes her head. "You got there. That's what matters."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
Another silence. But this one feels different. Less heavy. More like the space between breaths.
"I don't think I can do it anymore," Jessica says. "The hero thing. Jewel. All of it."
Ethan leans back on his hands. "Okay."
"Okay? That's it? You're not going to give me some speech about how I'm strong and brave and I can't give up?"
"Would it work?"
"No."
"Then why would I waste my breath?" He glances at her. "You want my actual opinion?"
Jessica hesitates, then nods.
"I think you're one of the toughest people I know. And I know Thor, so that's saying something." He pauses. "But toughness isn't the same as readiness. If you're not sure you want to put on that costume again, then don't. Not until you are sure. Maybe not ever. That's your call."
"So what, I just go back to being normal Jessica? The girl who works at a coffee shop and draws in her sketchbook?"
"Why not? Normal Jessica is pretty great."
Jessica lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. "You're a terrible motivational speaker."
"I'm not trying to motivate you. I'm trying to be honest." He meets her eyes. "You don't need a costume to be a hero, Jessica. You just need to be you. The rest is window dressing."
She studies him for a long moment. "You really believe that?"
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't."
Jessica looks down at her hands. They've stopped shaking. "I don't know who that is anymore. The 'me' part."
"Then figure it out. You've got time."
"And if I never want to be Jewel again?"
"Then you'll be Jessica. And that'll be enough."
The words hang in the air between them. Jessica's eyes are bright, but she's not crying. She looks like someone who's been carrying a boulder and just realized she can set it down.
Ethan stands up, stretching. "I should let you rest."
"You just got here."
"And I'm leaving. Very efficient visit." He walks to the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. And if you need anything—someone to talk to, someone to sit with you in silence, someone to help you throw stuff at a wall—you know how to reach me."
Jessica pulls her knees tighter. "Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For not making it weird."
He grins. "Give me time. I'm very good at making things weird."
This time she does smile. Small. Fragile. But real.
Ethan steps into the hallway and pulls the door mostly closed behind him, leaving it cracked an inch. He can hear the bedsprings shift as Jessica lies back down.
In the living room, Olivia is reading a book, legs tucked beneath her on the couch. She glances up as he passes.
"How is she?"
"Processing."
"Good answer." Olivia marks her page. "You staying for dinner?"
"Can't. Got homework."
"You're a terrible liar, Ethan."
"Yeah, I've been told."
He lets himself out and walks down the stairwell, hands in his pockets. The afternoon air hits him when he steps outside, cool and carrying the faint smell of rain. He pulls out his Digivice and checks for alerts.
Nothing. Quiet day.
For once, that feels like exactly what everyone needs.
***
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